Hoard of the Dragon Queen

It's not easy being creepy

The tapping into as much shadow for the event that got the party hired as caravan guards had sent Discord dangerously closer to giving into the shadow than she was willing to tell her new friends. What no one realized was that the symbols and glyphs she was drawing in the barn for the last 3 days were not for summoning or contacting the Astral Sea but wards set up to contain Discord herself while she meditated and returned to the calm state where she could function in society. The warding also served to hide her from Shar, by drawing in so much power from the Astral Sea Shar had become aware of Discord’s location.

Dungeons & Dragons (Eggs)

After returning to the cultist’s camp our hero’s found that the main body of cultists had traveled to the north, taking the hoard of ill gotten goods with them. Seeing that the bulk of the force gone the Heroes infiltrated the hatchery and found a secret passage just inside the entrance leading to the cultist’s barrack and treasure room. Inside the treasure room they found a bound gagged young, female halfling laying against the back wall, but no treasure. After freeing and reviving the halfling, she identified herself as Cora, a Harper agent sent to infiltrate the Cult of the Dragon. Cora joined the heroes as the attack the remaining cultists and guards. The end of the battle came when Imzel “Immy” Negroda knock out Frulam Mondath and the heros took her captive.

After a short time spent resting and inspecting Frulam’s quarters the heroes slipped through another hidden passage that lead them to a large chamber dedicated to Tiamate, the Dragon Cults scaled goddess. There they faced and defeated Langdedrosa Cyanwrat avenging Sultan Asaf yn Oron yn Yael yi Habhala defeat at the Half-Dragon’s hands.

With Brir‘s expert hand distracting the Guard Drakes and Discord’s new Kobold followers feeding a monstrous roper the heroes where able to retrieve all 3 black dragon eggs being kept in the hatchery. As a last surprise for any returning cultists the heroes freed some of the untrained guard drakes and loosed they to wander the halls of the Hatchery as a trap.

“Gods but the Southerners are buffoons,” Camden thought as he watched Sultan Asaf yn Oron yn Yael yi Habhala, Brir, and Discord leaving their meeting with Castellan Escobert the Red. Camden’s scowl was quickly replaced by an ingratiating smile and a lowering of his head. The Harper scout did appreciate his assignment to pose as a servant in the estate of Governor Nighthill, the organization as a whole was concerned about the whereabouts of Leosin Erlanthar and he could have had to have been out ranging. Even a servant’s pallet was better than a bedroll. Agents of the Harpers had been placed in the houses of anyone of any level of significance in the area, just in case some hapless guardsmen stumbled upon Leosin and reported it up to his backwater lord not knowing what they had fouond.

With Leosin returned, Camden awaited his release from this assignment with a mix of sadness and relief. The Harper scout had met with the monk upon his return. Leosin had filled him on his so called “rescue” attempt by the Southerners, as well as their anemic efforts to scout the Cult of the Dragon’s camp.

The recounting made Camden sneer, as the gross display of incompetency reminded him of the self-proclaimed sultan, all puff and bluster, crumpling like sackcloth under the might of the cultist, Langdedrosa Cyanwrat‘s blows. Duel indeed. It was a wonder the Southerners’ efforts had managed to save any lives at all during the looting and sacking of Greenest.

“What was that?” The half-fiend said suddenly, bitingly, halting in front of the Harper in disguise.

For a moment Camden’s blood ran cold. Could this hells-spawned pactomancer read his thoughts?

Daring to look up, Camden saw that half-fiend, Discord by name, was looking sharply off into a corner of the hall that contained nothing save deep flitting shadows from the torch light. Her eyes narrowing in suspicion before Discord gave a quick dip of her chin and catching up with her companions who had not broken stride. The rest of her clownish troupe either didn’t notice, or didn’t respond to, the sudden outburst directed at nothing.

Sometime later that evening, Camden had learned that the Governor was sending some troops, along with the Southerners, to strike at the Cult’s camp where Leosin had feigned captivity. Camden felt genuine concern for some the Greenest guards he had come to know since taking on this assignment. They would need Tymora’s own luck to return home safely. Camden could only hope that Leosin or Governor Nighthill had the sense to not let the Southerners lead.

When the Camden returned to his quarters he saw that the loose floorboard in which he stowed his gear benath had been recently displaced. Making sure none of the other servants were able to see, Camden popped the plank up and looked within. He breathed in relief as he saw all of his gear was accounted for. A rolled up piece of parchment now rested atop it, gleaming white in contrast to the dirty under-floor.

His head swam as his eyes slammed open. The pupils unrolled from deep within his skull as his senses adjusted to being back within his chamber, one a t a time. As his vision cleared he saw plates cluttered on the desk with the half-picked remains of fowl and rice being accosted by flies. A vast array of velum sheets lay scattered over the surface of the stone desk stretching out in front of him, seeming to writhe with his scrawling notes. The heat in the room was oppressive, and it reeked of his own sweat and the food remains that had begun to turn. The servants did not enter when he was scrying, which accounted for some of the state of his quarters, however he wasn’t necessarily neat to begin with.

Scrying was not something that came easy too him, yet with no other way to observe the actions of Sultan Asaf yn Oron yn Yael yi Habhala, he little choice. The scrying, especially at this distance, took almost all of his efforts, and would have been all but impossible had one of Asaf’s retainers not unwittingly taken a focus he created as a gift. Because of the immense efforts, he was diligent about penning notes frantically, deciphering the scrawling words later in order to help remind him of what he had seen.

In attempt to do just that, he began shuffling through the papers in front of him, reading the snippets of text that, though written in his own hand, he did not recognize. He began to remember seeing Asaf and his companions fight their way to the back of the temple of Chauntea in Greenest. He watched the awkward interaction between the street rat Asaf had chosen as a companion for some reason, and the elf who looked to serve as the spiritual leader of the community (Mondath?).

Grasping for another sheet, as he read he remembered Asaf being told by the fiend he also kept company with, that the cult behind this, known as The Cult of the Dragon, had captured some dragon eggs as was keeping them in a liar to the east of the village. The infernal witch had conducted some sort of interrogation, and he was glad he had not watched.

Another rustle of paper, and his eyes scanned across writing that reminded him of seeing the pauper, handy with a bow, compel a blue wyrm to break off its attack on the keep with some well placed arrows.

The closest sheaf among the chaos was a vague description of a battle that took place at what he assumed must be a mill, though he had never seen one in person. He snickered as he remembered the scene. Assuming the form of the desert tarantula showed a certain amount of audacity on Asaf’s part, but also a lot of progress. Despite the invaders attempts, the Sultan and his rag-tag companions remained safe.

Half-heartedly he tried to gather up the parchments in an attempt to return some semblance of order to his desk, but his efforts proved futile. He was tired, and hot, and his scrying and left him with pressure behind his eyes and forehead. He rose from his chair, his diaphanous robes, sweat-soaked, clinging to the surface of the seat. A sour smell filled his nostrils as he rose, and he wanted nothing more than slip into a bath, then the sweet reprieve of slumber.

Before any of that, he had to report. Scowling at the state of himself and his chamber he flung the door open. The cool air of the palace hallway washed over him like a cleansing wave. The servant standing by outside his quarters leapt to her feet.

“I will need a fresh attire,” he said looking through her to his destination further down the hall. “Fetch it for me from within. Also, see to it that my quarters are returned to a their usual state.”

He made his way quickly through the hall way eager to deliver his report, smirking at the notion of going before the high Vizier in his soiled state. The game the Vizier now played at was not pretty, and he had no qualms about reminding him of it.

I write to you as even now we sit, resting briefly, before liberating innocents of Greenest held captive in a temple of Chauntea. To say that my time in the north has been eventful is an understatement.

You can recall the book we found while adventuring, with the name of the far-off cultists? Well we were told in Candle Keep that there would be a buyer in Greenest. When we arrived we found the settlement under attack by the same cult in which the book contains the names of some of the affiliates! What is more, an azure dragon was overseeing the attack! This one seemed smaller than the wyrms of our southern tales. Perhaps the cold weather does not allow northern dragons to grow as big as the their southern counterparts?

Fending off cultists, we escorted a family to the safety of the keep after rescuing them form certain death. Among their number was woman named Lena, who seemed not unaccustomed to battle, yet not a soldier either. Within the walls of the keep we met Governor Nighthill and an enigmatic dwarf named Castellan Escobert the Red. The governor tasked us with assisting him, as his forces were busy defending the keep, and we (Myself, the vagrant Brir, and creature that calls itself Discord) accepted.

The strange castellan gave us keys to enter a sewer. At first i found myself curious, however after being attacked by a swarm of rats, I have decided that I do not care for sewers. What is more, this sewer was especially uncared for. After receiving this, I expect you will have the sewers beneath the palace cleared of rodents and detritus.

After exiting the sewers we encountered a band of cultists that were dispatched and captured. We now are holding two cultists captive in the sewers, as Nighthill seeks to question them. We also discovered, fortuitously, that we can travel more stealthily along the rive, as the noise masks our steps.

As for myself, I am well and in highest of spirits. I have longed to see lands that are not mine, and thus far the North has not disappointed. I have resolved to recruit a halfling to our band. Having familiarized myself with recent stories of the north, it seems all bands who accomplished greatness had a halfling in their midst. I do not think this is happenstance. The north is a harsh, dangerous land. I suspect that at times it becomes rather bleak, more so for the longer lived races that walk among constant reminders of the decline of their once great civilizations. The halflings seem somewhat resilient to despair, and their culture is one of enjoyment and simple pleasures. I suspect that the enjoyment of those things serve as valuable reminder to the more susceptible races, as they get mired in the atrocities they face.

There is no doubt now that Discord is who you thought she was. The arrangement of our “chance” meeting to adventure with Veradda Stoor was a sound suggestion indeed. Discord is unstable at times, and though it pains me, I think keeping an eye on her in this far away land is the best course of action.

Speaking of that disappointment of a woman, Veradda Stoor, did you get a chance to clear up that whole mess with her father? Wanted in the questioning of his favored daughter’s death, how absurd. I sometimes wonder why the family tolerates these brigand-sovereigns who call themselves “Pasha”?

As for the vagrant, Brir, she proves very interesting. She is intelligent beyond my expectations and her use of a bow is unparalleled even among the finest of palace archers. What is more, she is brave and observant. In short, with so many good qualities, I am curious why she lived among the squalor?

I hope this letter finds you well Akilah. I long for home. The north is a place devoid of of the sultury mysterious of a dessert evening, or the fragrant trader-winds that carry the scent of sea-salt and spice as the cool your sweating brow. Yet I know that this is where I best serve the family, and value how much I can appreciate my lands now that I do not walk among them.

Sincerely,

Sultan Assof yn Oron yn Yael yi Almraiven

Loot:
6 looters bags (No value as we intend to return the goods to the Greenest people)
From the last adventure: Scroll of comprehend languages. Discord
Tiny house cat-sized bear named Blood-drinker. Brir
Partially destroyed book listing some names and locations of various Culf of the Dragon agents active in the Heartlands. Assof

Stories

The march from the Thundertree Ruins to Bairkhalt was more stern than Adup was accustom. Osric was oriented on getting to Bairkhalt; after all the delays in finding where his cousins were, nobody in the band was going to argue the point. The corruption of a nearby goblin horde showed in the landscape far before the top of the Bairkhalt towers crested the horizon. The Desert Elf had convinced the group that taking a discreet approach would give the cousins the best chances of being freed. While none of them were particularly ready to don the cloaks of the Redbrands it seemed the most sensible way of making an inconspicuous approach.

They rounded a final hill on their approach and Bairkhalt was revealed in its dilapidated state. The ruins looked like the desiccated corps of an old man crumbling in quiet crypt. Rubble was strewn about the base of the old dwarven walls and the higher stories looked as if a stiff wind would send them tumbling as well. Adup could not help but think this is why his people so loathed these filthy vermin; they move in and destroy history, tarnish beauty, befoul any remnant of civilization.

Ahftahb’s ruse required that they approach with nonchalance, but Adup was having trouble containing his anger, by his heavy breathing Osric seemed to be struggling to contain his distaste for the goblins as well. Ahftahb quietly said, “two archers above the entrance, one low and on the right.”

Bodies moved in the shadows within Bairkhalt as they reached the stairs that lead to the entrance, half blocked with the crumbling remains of what must have been a beautifully crafted stone door. Two bodies hid from what was left of the daylight as one of the filthy creature exited the hall. He stepped gingerly over the threshold and began greeting the group in unfriendly and heavily accented speech. Confusion touched his ugly brow as the group ascended the stair. It took his feeble mind a couple of moments to realized there were no dwarves in the Redbrands.

His eyes shot open, but before he had time to call out to his companions Osric surged forward to push the foul little creature back through the door way.

At the burst of motion from the armor clad dwarf the others set to work. The limbs of the stout bow creaked as Adup pulled up his bow and took aim at one of the archers; the arrow whistled briefly before it was buried deep in the goblin’s chest. Ahftahb moved forward, close on Osric’s heals seeming to shift in mid stride; what looked like a lunatic diving onto the stairs turned into a fearsome wolf in full stride. Altariel started slightly, as if he had been deeply pondering some difficult puzzle, which Adup did not doubt he had been, even at a time like this. It was of no concern to the dwarf as he knew the Altariel’s agile mind was truly formidable. His confidence was well placed. With bare an utterance and a flick of his fingers the two remaining archers sunk to the ground with the crumbling architecture visible through the holes that now gaped from their chests.

At the top of the stairs Osric’s shield collided with the face of the ugly little creature, his squeak of pain was muffled by the shield. As he pushed the goblin back the wolf noticed the tripwire that lay across the threshold and took the back of Osric’s tunic in his jaws, yanking the dwarf to a halt. The goblin continued hurtling though the entry and catching an arm on the bronze tripwire. The wire held fast nearly separating the dirty little arm from the goblin, but at the last moment the wire gave and the celling began to collapse. The one armed goblin and two of the skulking shadows were buried in the falling debris.

Off toward their right there was a clatter as an unseen goblin allowed his bow to fall to the ground as he beat a hasty retreat further into Bairkhalt. Aftahb lunged forward, putting an end to the retreat almost as fast as it had begun. Altariel and Adup met Osric at the top of the stairs. Osric pointed to the hall the little goblin had fled to and said, “I think the others are down this way. They may not know we are coming, but they sure know we’re here.” The three men and a wolf prowled down the passage, looking for the next goblin to get in their way.

“Bazz sir! Bazz sir! Boogzy saws attackers!” The scrawny godlin came running back from the hallway leading to the entry hall, arms waving above his head.

The largest of four hobgoblins gathered in the center of the banquet hall around one of the few tables able to stand; rose and turned toward the ugly little humanoid running towards the group.

“Boogzy thinks he saws attackers does he,” the large hobgoblin said with a sneer. “And what kind of attackers does little Boogzy the pants shitter thinks he saws?”

The small goblin came to a stop in front of the towering hob, a sudden rush of fear over riding his adrenalin as his place in the world came rushing back to him. “Aaahhhh Boogzy saws fighting sir….” the goblin sniveled as he hunched down trying to disappear into the hall floor.

With a loud laugh Bazz quickly bent over and caught the scrawny goblin by the neck before hoisting him into the air. “And what the hell would a worthless piece of trash like you know about fighting?”

“Grrrupppllleee….”

“I thought as much,” Bazz said with a laugh quickly echoed by the other hobs around the table. “Do something useful and tell that fat slob Yegg to hurry up with our food,” then with a casual swing that belied its violence the large hobgoblin threw Boogzy across the room towards the door to the kitchen and barracks area.

The projectile sometimes known as Boogzy impacted the partially rotten door with a solid thunk and fell in a heap to the ground. After a few moments the door was wrenched open and the swollen figure of an obese goblin stood in the crooked frame of the door.

“Wats you didz nows, Boogzy pantshitter?” The fat goblin ask smacking a large ladle into his greasy hand.

“Boogzy….saws…somfin…,”

“Saw somfin…” the rest of the fat goblin’s words were cut off as a loud cry and the clatter of an overturning table erupted from the center of the room.

Boogzy’s vision swam before him as he rolled over and looked at the commotion. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, one of the large hobgoblins started to topple back with an arrow protruding from his chest and his face covered in a layer of ice. At the same time what looked like a large wolf came bounding into the room making a beeline for the group of hobs around table. Just before the large wolf crashed into hobs a beam fire lanced out from hall streaking over the group; following the beam was what sounded like a string of curses disparaging the gods…

While the hobs were surprised Boogzy saw that they reacted quickly; Bazz lep over the table and swung his shield up into position, guarding him from the highway. At the same time the two remaining hobs stepped forward to confront the terrifying large wolf.

Boogzy could barely make out a deep voice grumbling, “to hell with you all then, I’ll do it myself,” just before a stout dwarf came charging out of the hallway. The dwarf had his shield braced against his shoulder as he rammed full force into Bazz’ readied form. The dwarf and the hob came together with a loud crash; the dwarfs legs kept churning as he pushed Bazz back. The hobs feet finally found purchase and he flexed his arm; pushed back against the dwarf and gaining enough space to draw the stunning longsword etched with various symbols honoring Jing.

“Yegg!” Bazz called as he faced off against the rugged dwarf, “get ur crew and ur fat ass out here!”

“You’ns heard ‘um boys,” the fat godlin bellowed shaking off his surprise, “charge!” With that Yegg lept forward out of the doorway towards the fray, swinging his ladle in a circle over his head. The fat goblins landing was accompanied by a sickening crack; a jolt of pain from his arm caused Boogzy to realise that the fat goblins leap had ended on his right arm.

Boogzy’s already blurred vision started to go red as pain from his newly broken arm started to overtake him. Fighting through the pain the small goblin managed to flop out of the way as the rest of the goblins came rushing out of the barracks to join the rapidly growing melee. Boogzy looked on in a daze as the small horde of charging goblins lead by Yegg ran towards the hall that the attackers had come from. As the group approached the dark hall two figures stepped out of the shadows to confront them; one tall and lean with swirling robes around him, his pointed ears marking him an elf, the other’s short stature and bristly blond beard showed him to be another of the hated dwarfs.

The dwarf readied a wicked looking axe, eyes focusing intently on Yegg as a half smile started to form on his lips, “I’ll take the Fat one.”

The tall elf looked over the oncoming gobins for just a moment before raising his hands and guiding his fingers through a set of strange gestures. As his hands moved gracefully they seemed to draw in light from the room and focusing it into a small glowing sphere between his palms. With a final flick of his wrist he sent three bright missiles shooting out from the small orb; each missile erupted in a bright flash of light against the chest of one of the charging goblins.

The sensory overload caused by the spell proved to be too much for Boogzy as his vision finally failed him, his consciousness vanished in flashes of light.

The adventure log is where you list the sessions and adventures your party has been on, but for now, we suggest doing a very light “story so far” post. Just give a brief overview of what the party has done up to this point. After each future session, create a new post detailing that night’s adventures.

One final tip: Don’t stress about making your Obsidian Portal campaign look perfect. Instead, just make it work for you and your group. If everyone is having fun, then you’re using Obsidian Portal exactly as it was designed, even if your adventure log isn’t always up to date or your characters don’t all have portrait pictures.